The first thing that I want to - no, MUST - write about is my apartment. How could I not? It has been my home for almost 6 years. It has sheltered me in good and in bad times. It has seen me sleep in, fight, read novels, drink beer, do yoga, cook and clean. Besides the first 18 years of my life, which I spent in Almelo, and those 3 wonderfully crazy years on the UCU campus, it's the only home I've ever known. And let's not forget that Jochem and I (plus several family members and friends) turned this place into what it is today through weeks of hard labor.
But let's not get too sentimental and forget the things that I absolutely dread about this place and will not miss at all. Just to mention a few, I hate:
- The fact that I need to not close the door of the bathroom in order to have enough leg room to sit comfortably;
- That every surface is covered in at leat 5 coats of paint;
- The dust, which hides in corners and between cracks;
- The stained carpet in the bedroom;
- The teeny tiny balcony that only fits 2 chairs (although, I must admit, that's also what I kind of love about it);
- The fact that, when I wake up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom, I have to (1) go downstairs and (2) balance very steep stairs;
- The creepy noises it makes;
- The draft;
- The cold in winter (especially when it comes over night during a holiday weekend and your heater breaks);
- The heat, oh my, the heat that comes during the humid Dutch summers.
So what do I love about this place? Well, first of all, we have a lot of space. Although the apartment is old and badly kept, we have 2 whole floors for the 5 of us (me, Jochem, Bicho, Manchego and Pesto - so just 2 human beings). I love that we are able to have separate rooms to do separate things in. It keeps things simple and organized (not that I'm into all that or anything).
Another thing that I've always loved about this place are the windows. They are quite big and offer a lot of light and sunshine into our home, which is so important when fall arrives and the days grow so much darker so soon.
I wouldn't say that I have a favorite spot in my apartment. How could I choose? Obviously, I love our yellow kitchen, as well as the dining table, where we shared so many good meals and where I drink my cup of coffee every morning.
I definitely have a soft spot for that teeny, tiny balcony of ours. Sometimes, when it's really hot, I get up early to just sit there to drink a cup of coffee and enjoy some cool, fresh morning air. Sometimes, at night, I like to take a beer or a glass of wine up there to look out into the world and fantasize about what my life could possibly be like. I treasure those moments of quiet solitude in my otherwise hectic existence (if not in real life, then at least in my head).
Plus: I love the view of old houses built against each other. It makes me feel enclosed, safe, and part of something.
But I would say that I spend just as much time in the other rooms of our apartment. I will never forget the seemingly endless hours that I spent in our study/guest room studying and writing papers. Perhaps that's why I don't like it there so much anymore, although Jochem still spends most of his evenings there behind his computer. In the winter it's the warmest room in the house, so I often lie on the couch and read novels or watch a TV show on my laptop.
I like to be in our living room when there are a lot of people around to share food and conversation or to watch a movie from our big couch. Although it is rare now, Jochem and I used to spend hours on that couch watching Friends or Bones. I also love to look at the map of the world above our couch and dream.
The bedroom is a place where I like to do my yoga, although the cats often make it hard. Sometimes we use our bed as a living room and spend whole days there as if our apartment were no more than a small studio. Sometimes you just don't need much.
With so many good memories attached to this place, the thought of leaving it often fills me with intense grief and sadness. But I think that it's important to learn to distinguish between the house in itself and the way I felt in it. A house is, after all, just a nice pile of bricks. We make it a home by living in it. But then again, maybe I already learned this lesson, or otherwise I probably wouldn't be quitting my job to spend 9 months as a penniless backpacker traveling the world - I would apply for a mortgage instead. So I guess that thinking about leaving this place has become like an almost healed wound that I just keep licking, so as not to forget, ever, that I was here once, living happily.
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